


Permanent Beauty

by ItsClydeBitches



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: (It's Fine), (Shhh Not Really), (They Mostly Just Drink Together), Bonding, F/M, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Multi, Prompt Fill, Some Plot, florist and tattoo artist au, kinda plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-10 01:12:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7824382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsClydeBitches/pseuds/ItsClydeBitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cass meets Jesse, a small town Texas preacher running a tattoo parlor. Jesse meets Cass, a vagabond florist who also just happens to be a vampire. </p><p>What the hell could go wrong?</p><p>(Complete!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! I actually met my goal to start posting this before school got underway, can you believe it? Had a lot of fun writing this fic. Started out as a straight forward Florist/Tattoo Artist AU, morphed into more of a prequel of sorts for the Road Trip fic I want to write. So hopefully that will come into existence... at some point in my life lol. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! <3

They moved in on the same day.

 

Cass never saw Jesse though, and Jesse never saw Cass. Their stores were nearly connected, just a thin wall between them, and each had a small apartment upstairs. Jesse unloaded the U-haul under the bright Texas sun on a Saturday afternoon. He had half the town helping him (whether he wanted them to or not) and when he was done he was sure to thank them each in turn, passing out lukewarm beer he bought just for the occasion. They left, and Jesse just managed to brush his teeth before falling into bed. He slept deeply.

 

An hour later Cass rolled up in the truck he’d stolen two-hundred miles back, leaving a noticeable trail of petals and leaves in his wake. In total darkness he unloaded the merch himself, cursing at every pinprick and nearly-demolished pot. When he was done he sat against the tiny divider between the shops and chugged all the liquor on his own, burping extra loud just because he could. He worked through eight cigarettes. Toed obscenities into the dirt. Cass might have just slept there if it weren’t for a damn thing called the sunrise. He carted himself into his store instead and took one last swing from a bottle that turned out to be empty. Cass passed out behind the counter.

 

The two of them worked to get their respective shops in order, unsuccessfully drumming up costumers, though successfully spreading the word—of the bad variety. They each had their means and their own, odd aspirations.

 

It took Jesse and Cass a whole month to actually meet.

 

***

 

It happened in the height of June, a freak storm blowing across the Texas plains and sending everyone running for cover. It was goddamn awful out, so Jesse was hurrying inside. It was also brilliantly dark, so Cass was heading out. They paused with their hands in identical spots on their doorknobs, staring.

 

Cass started it, slow and eager. “Well now. What’s a guy like you doin’ gettin’ a tat at a place like this, eh?”

 

“I own this joint.” Jesse raised an eyebrow. “What’s a scruff like you doing getting flowers?”

 

“What you said the first round. Don’t look like any fucking tat artist I ever saw.”

 

“Well you don’t look like a fucking florist.”

 

The staring contest continued before Cass broke it with a grin, nearly manic in its intensity. “Ayyy,” he drew out, thrusting a hand forward. “Cassidy. And I must say I— _Jesus Henrietta Christ_ , that a clerical collar? The hell kind of a preacher are you?”

 

“Jesse Custer. The drenched kind.” He took the hand, and sure enough it was wet to the bone, the wind picking up something awful as the two of them clashed in the best way possible. “Listen, Cass, you gonna make me stand here all day or are you gonna get us some drinks?”

 

Whatever Cass was expecting, it wasn’t that. Still, in his favor he didn’t miss a beat, giving Jesse’s hand one last pump before diving into his shop. Frankly Jesse hadn’t given it much thought the last month, but standing there already soaked he took time to press against the glass, inspecting it all. There were flowers alright, though not many that Jesse could name. No roses or patches of baby’s breath. Most of Cass’ domain was covered in dark colors, things with thorns and sharp edges. Nearest he could tell Jesse knew three of em’: fern, dogwood, and a whole damn hydrangea that took up the far corner. By the time he found Cass again he was mighty surprised to see him fishing a bottle out of a pot.

 

“Special brew,” Cass huffed a moment later, brandishing the liquor. The rain was already turning the mud on the bottle to slop.

 

Jesse shook his head. “You always hide your shit in soil?”

 

“Ain’t that where the shit belongs? Nah, just the good stuff. Like digging up treasure.”

 

“Uh huh.” Jesse tilted his head up, squinting at the sign. “Shady Florist,” he read, then laughed. “Yeah. You’re shady alright.”

 

“It means I specialize in plants that don’t need much sun, you arsehole. C’mon, c’mon, you invitin’ me in or what? I was gonna go get myself struck by some lightin’ but you seem _way_ more fun.”

 

Cass shoved his way past Jesse, three bottles under his arm and one between his teeth. He was still muttering about lightning as he crossed the threshold.

 

Somehow, Jesse didn’t think he was joking.

 

***

 

“Nice, nice,” were his first words out of Cass’ mouth, right before his dirty fingers found the germicidal solution to play with. Jesse slapped his hand away—like a goddamn kid in a candy store.

 

“That’s not the kinda alcohol we want,” he drawled and pulled an actual bottle out from the top cabinet.

 

“Fair.” Cass threw himself onto the recliner, stretching. Jesse took the familiar rolling chair.

 

“So, preacher-padre-painter whoever the fuck you are, you always invite strangers into your humble abode?”

 

“This part’s the shop. _Meant_ for strangers. You’re not setting foot upstairs.”

 

“Still. I could be _dangerous_ ,” Cass said it with a grin, like he was dangerous and damn well proud of it to boot.

 

Jesse popped the top off his beer on the table’s edge. “Wanna know what I think?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“I think any guy who’s got the balls to open up a flower shop in the middle of goddamn Texas is just the kind of asshole I need in my life.”

 

Cass roared out a laugh, loud and surprisingly bubbly. If Jesse hadn’t liked him before he sure as hell did then.

 

Cass wiggled his fingers until Jesse passed him the bottle.

 

“True enough, padre. I’ll drink to that.”

 

***

 

It was surreal to say the least: two guys who’d lived in such close proximity for over four weeks, yet who’d only just met, getting totally shit-faced as the storm of all storms raged outside. There was the briefest fear of _what are we gonna talk about?_ before Cass blew that right out of the water.

 

“Twenty questions,” he announced. “But instead of a stinkin’ guessin’ game we’re just gonna ask each other shit and answer it honestly.”

 

“So, Truth or Dare? Without the Dare? You’re actually five aren’t you— _hey!_ Get your own.” Jesse slapped Cass’ hand (again) as he tried to bum a cigarette.

 

“Aw c’mon, can’t you help a mate out?”

 

“Is that your first question?”

 

“Fuck no.”

 

Jesse gave him one anyway, watching as Cass cursed up a storm trying to keep the thing dry—the both of them were still wet to the bone. Jesse thought about going up to change, maybe offering Cass something too, but even that seemed a bit much to him, just five minutes in. Besides, the cold added something to the experience (not that Cass seemed to notice). Jesse settled for admiring the way his shirt clung tight to Cass’ skin.

 

He shook his head. “Alright then.” Jesse stuck a thumb out at the weather. “Were you really going out to get struck by lightning?”

 

Cass blew out some smoke. “Sure was. Nothin’ like it, padre. A zing and a high not easily repeated. Gettin’ blasted outta your shoes is just a bonus.”

 

“... uh huh.”

 

“Maybe I shoulda mentioned first that I’m a vampire.” Cass grinned, twirling the cigarette. “Didn’t you ever wonder about your ol’ night owl neighbor?”

 

“Vampire,” Jesse repeated, shaking his head. “‘Course you are.”

 

“It’s true!”

 

“Then why aren’t you eaten’ me?”

 

“Oh, I’d very dearly love to eat ya,” Cass said, with a wildly different implication. “It’s my turn now though, no cheatin’. Are you _really_ a preacher?”

 

Jesse threw up his hands. “Yes. Finished school and everything. Do I need to dredge up the attendance records for you?”

 

“You still got ‘em? Potential blackmail in that, my friend.”

 

“No cheatin’,” Jesse mimicked. “What the hell was that spike plant growing in your window? Looks like it’s gonna attack one of these days.”

 

So it went, the two of them passing booze and conversation well past twenty questions each. Jesse learned that Cass had been a drifter for his (supposedly) 119 years, but he’d always liked greenery, something about a gardening ma and flower language at the tail end of the 19th century. He’d wanted to open a store for the last couple of decades, had gone on a trip to “acquire” enough goods, and had paused here because it seemed as good a place as any—which was about where Jesse stopped him.

 

“The hell you mean ‘good as any’?” he said, words slurring just a bit. “It’s Texas, Cass. We got crops and dirt, not freaking ather.”

 

“Aster,” Cass corrected idly, fiddling with a tattoo gun. “This what I think it is?”

 

“Yeah, now give it before you break it.” Jesse was still shaking his head. “You make it sound like you just… _stopped_ here or something. Randomly.”

 

“Pretty much did.”

 

Jesse stared. The whiskey was getting to him, but he wasn’t that far gone. He spun in a slow circle, taking time to pull his thoughts together and determine why this claim was complete and utter shit.

 

“Cass,” he said slowly. “I bought this place off Ryan Locker. He was very pleased for me to take over the space, and by that I mean I convinced the bastard that he was old as balls and he’d do us all a favor by retiring.”

 

Cass snorted, inhaling some of his drink.

 

“But I did _pay_ him.” Jesse paused. “You paid... who?”

 

Cass raised his bottle. “A big harry guy named Nobody. It went somethin’ like this,” he ticked off his fingers... then eventually his toes (“Keep your damn shoes on, Cass.”) “I drove, drove, drove some fuckin’ more, saw this shitehole, stopped—tired an’ whatnot a ‘course—saw that no one had touched said shitehole in a while, finally decided that it should be _my_ shitehole.” Cass shrugged. “None of your flock have kicked me out yet, and you can cleanse me of my sins, can’t ya, padre?”

 

“Jesus,” Jesse laughed. “That’s...fuck. Only in Texas.”

 

“Aye! Cheers to that.”

 

“Sure, Cass.” Jesse lifted his bottle. “Cheers.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

“Now wait, wait, wait. Just... just _wait_. I’m bringin’ us back a mo’.”

 

Jesse was still in his chair, but now he’d rolled it far back, body stretching towards the recliner and forehead planted against the plastic-y seat. He was gonna fall any second now.

 

Cass too. Parallel to Jesse’s head, Cass was now horizontal over the recliner’s middle, head and feet curving toward the floor—though the head side was starting to win. Jesse raised his own head (big red mark there for the world to see) when Cass was too silent too long.

 

“Cass,” he said. Jesse got a grunt in response. “What am I waitin’ for?”

 

“Oy... give a mate a moment, all the blood’s rushin’ to my head.” Cass hoisted himself into a sitting position, letting out a massive burp in the process. “Here’s what you’re waitin’ for: why the ever lovin’ _fuck_ are you a tat artist?”

 

Jesse groaned. “You asked me that already, Cass.”

 

“No, I asked why you’re a preacher and, by the way, padre, ‘faith’ ain’t an interesting answer.”

 

“It’s not?” Jesse peered out from his arms blearily, smiling just a bit.

 

“No. Now stop dodgin’ the question.”

 

He took a page out of Cass’ book and heaved himself up, barely managing not to fall in the gap between the recliner and chair (miracle). Jesse’s body felt more liquor than blood now as he mustered up the last of his strength.

 

“Right.” He scrubbed hands over his face. “Last touchy-feely for the night? _Great_. Now look, I wasn’t out for a second job or anything like that. Believe it or not I’ve got family money, a whole shit pile of it, and it’s not like you need much out here in Annville of all places. The beer is cheap, the women cheaper, yeah?”

 

Jesse gestured, and the irony wasn’t lost on Cass: the equipment in here was worth more than anything out there. In fact, between the two of them and their shops, they could probably beat out the whole town.

 

Jesse took another swing.

 

“Wasn’t really looking to get out of preaching either. Fuck, not sure I know how to stay in this place and _not_ preach. It’s absolutely a full time job in its way... I’m just so fucking _bad_ at it.” Swing two. Swing three. “Always had a knack for drawing though. Used to doodle shit on my arms as a kid. Thick, cheap sharpies, you know the kind? Probably poisoned myself and all that crap.”

 

“I’ll be sure not to drink from ya then,” Cass murmured. He’d closed his eyes.

 

“Shuddup. Point of all this is I always sorta wanted to open a parlor... finally figured why the hell not? Do both.” Jesse ended with a shrug of his own.

 

It was quiet a long moment. Then: “Bullshit.”

 

“...s’cuse me?”

 

“I call full, stinkin’ bullshit on that.” Cass opened his eyes, sharper and far more sober than Jesse was expecting. “I’m all for spontaneity, padre, but you expect me to believe you just threw yourself into this willy nilly and like? No. No, no, no, no. That ain’t you.”

 

“Cass. You’ve known me,” a glance at the clock. “Holy fuck it’s been six hours.”

 

“Exactly! And in those six hours I _know_ you, Jesse... uh…what was your last name again?”

 

“Custer.”

 

Cass slapped his knee. “Jesse Custer. An you’re tryin’ to tell me you set up all this just ‘cause you’re a decent artist? Fuck. I’m good at belly dancin’, but you don’t see me up on the nearest stage.”

 

Jesse hid his face in his hands. “I don’t think I need to see that.”

 

“You’d be blessed to see that, asshat. Now spill. Why are you really here? An no more a’ the bull, you lil’ shite.”

 

So Jesse thought, taking the time Cass offered him, but all that came out was, “It sounds crazy… _feels_ crazy.”

 

Cass scooted a little closer. “I know crazy. Lay it on your Cass.”

 

Jesse opened his mouth. Stopped. Closed it. Started again. “I... I do have faith, Cass, but it’s not as straight forward as what I present in church. I look at everything— _everything_ —and there’s some kind of beauty in it, no matter how fucked up the rest of it might be. It’s like... like love and hate... fire and ice... plutonium, ice cream, tarantulas... _all_ of it. All of Gods’ creations, Cass, and I can put any of it on another person’s body. Something permanent. Sometimes... ah hell. Sometimes I think that if I can put beauty literally in a person’s skin like that, maybe it would... fuck. I don’t know. Maybe they’d be a little better somehow. Fuck.” Jesse finished his bottled and tossed it away.

 

“... well shite,” Cass whispered.

 

Jesse grimaced. “Hell, don’t mind me. I get sappy on the drink.”

 

“No... no! Jesus, Jesse, I want a tat now—I do!”

 

Jesse gave Cass a look over. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed the guy’s form before. Shit, Cass showed it off with that sleeveless tee and those ripped, rolled jeans. Even in the dark from the storm Jesse could see Cass clearly, largely because of the paleness of his skin, milky white and nearly glowing—a kind of beacon within the shop. Jesse had to admit that it was the one part of Cass that played into his whole vampire joke... a perfectly blank canvas, ripe for Jesse’s taking if he wanted it. He thought he did. But not right now.

 

“You’re bony as shit,” he said instead. “It’s gonna hurt.”

 

“Think I can’t take some pain, padre?”

 

“Just a warning. I’m sure you can take all that you’d dish out.”

 

It was a clear challenge, but again, not tonight. Not when his bladder was fit to burst and the whole world felt like the soft fuzz on a peach. Jesse stood and stretched, side-eyeing his new, strange friend.

 

“You’re still here in the morning? I’ll give you a tat. Free of charge even.”

 

Cass grinned, sticking his hands behind his head. “Invitation to stay? Aw, you’re a sweet one, you are.”

 

“Only if you think this is somehow better than, you know, your _bed_. You’re literally right next door, Cass.”

 

He only hummed, stretching out his legs too. “Just hit the blinds, will ya?”

 

Jesse didn’t have blinds, but he took the time to stick a towel over the small window on his door, because why the hell not. He stumbled back and clapped Cass on the shoulder. “There’s a powder room in the back.”

 

“The fuck is a powder room?”

 

Jesse just chuckled, tossed Cass more towels in lieu of a blanket and only stopped with his foot on the first step, leading upstairs.

 

“What a fucking night,” Jesse said.

 

Cass’ only answer was to whistle the White Stripes’ “We’re Gonna Be Friends,” but it sounded like real strong agreement to Jesse.

 

***

 

The next day was Sunday.

 

Jesse’s internal clock was stronger than the drink, thank fuck, but he expressed those thanks in a storm of curses. Hell, the literal storm. How many sheep would actually show up after a night like last’s? Problem was, even if it was just one, they deserved to have the freaking preacher greet them. Preacher should be there regardless, dammit. None of this meant Jesse lessened his bitching though.

 

He pulled his clothes on randomly—the beauty of all black—and didn’t bother with a comb through his hair. Instead Jesse downed the dregs of whatever was beside his bed, grimacing all the while. His shoes were nearly forgotten, he grabbed them at the last second, and then Jesse was clomping his way down the stairs.

 

He’d damn forgotten that Cass was there.

 

“Lucky bastard,” he muttered to Cass’ snoring face. Jesse didn’t have time to wake him up out of spite, or even drag this sinner to church with him. He just tossed one of those towels over Cass’ face (still snoring) and stuffed three mints from the small bowl into his mouth. Jesse left, hurrying through the door. As he did the towel he’d put up fell, unnoticed.

 

The morning sun was just beginning to break over the window’s edge.


	3. Chapter 3

“Excess is a road to sin,” Jesse intoned, very aware of the excess alcohol from last night, currently beating drums in the back of his head. “It’s just one of many. Roads, I mean.” He made the mistake of catching Emily’s eye and began to sweat. “That’s...” Jesse swallowed. “... ah hell. Yeah. That’s all I have for you folks today. Watch out for debris on your way home, _please_ stop changing the sign, and stop by the parlor! I open at noon!”

 

They were already shuffling out though, a few of them giving him glares about mentioning the shop. Jesse jumped when someone flicked the back of his neck.

 

“Jesus, Emily.”

 

“You smell like a brewery,” she said—didn’t snap it, just let it out easy and indifferent. That ate at him more than her screaming would have.

 

“I know,” Jesse sighed. “Swear it wasn’t planned. I met my neighbor last night. We hit it off.”

 

The two of them followed their town back out of the church.

 

“Neighbor?” Emily said, then her expression cleared. “You mean the florist? His work is gorgeous.”

 

Jesse smirked. “You haven’t met Cass yet, have you?”

 

“No...?”

 

“I’d put that off as long as possible.”

 

It was a bit of a walk back to the shop and Jesse sort of hoped that Emily would keep him company on the way. She was already pulling out her phone though, checking on the kids with Miles, so Jesse just stared down the road instead. He hadn’t been joking about the debris. Branches and clumps of grass littered Annville, to say nothing of the dust that now covered every stable surface. The whole town was soggy in form and mood. Jesse looked down at his mud-splattered boots and thought that the color was reminiscent of BBQ. Maybe he’d stop by Sloppy John’s on his way back and get some actual grub in his stomach.

 

Maybe he’d pick up some for Cass too.

 

“Jesse? You hearing me?”

 

“Mm?” Jesse turned to find Emily with her phone back in her pocket, waiting. “Sorry, Em. You lost me for a second there.”

 

“Lost you longer ago than that.”

 

It was soft, accompanied by a furious blush, and both silently decided to ignore it.

 

“I was just wondering if you thought that neighbor of yours could fix the air conditioner.”

 

Despite it all, Jesse smiled. “He’s a florist. Not a...whoever the hell fixes air conditioners.”

 

Emily shrugged. “Just a thought,” and she was walking away before Jesse could say anything else.

 

“I’ll ask him though!” he called. No response. Just a retreating back.

 

“Shit.”

 

***

 

Jesse was damn near done in by the time he got back. He didn’t need anymore weirdness today... but weirdness was exactly what he got.

 

“What the fuck, Cass.”

 

He set the pulled pork sandwiches down on one of the customer chairs and crept closer, wondering why he could only see one of Cass’ feet. Turned out he was sleeping _beneath_ the recliner now, in the only real shaded part of the shop. Jesse kicked the bare foot (bastard never did put his shoes back on), but Cass didn’t move. He didn’t stir when Jesse loudly put away all their shit from last night, or even when he jumped up on the chair Cass was under...the sandwiches were getting cold.

 

Jesse sat and swung his legs. Then he stilled. Then he grinned. Hadn’t he promised his new bud something?

 

It only took a few minutes for Jesse to collect all his supplies, sitting cross-legged beside Cass’ head. Bit of a reach, but it would do. He pulled Cass’ hand in his lap (were those faint _burns_ on his arm? What the _fuck_ ) and cleaned it like you’d clean your privates after visiting the Toadvine—thoroughly, because it was grimy as hell and probably carried disease. Cass was still dead to the world when Jesse powered up the gun. He did stir at the first touch of the needle though.

 

“ _Holy mother a—!_ ” Cass broke off with a yowl when his head smacked against the underside of the chair. Jesse just tutted.

 

“Hold still,” he warned. “I’m good at free-handing, but not that good.” Not that Jesse was really concerned. He wasn’t stupid: he hadn’t used any ink yet.

 

Meanwhile Cass was looking around like trapped prey, glancing side-to-side at the patches of sun and shrinking into a pathetically tiny ball. His hair was all sticking up, he smelled of nothing but sweat and booze (not that Jesse could judge), he was practically cross-eyed with disorientation, and his jeans, at least three sizes too big, were starting to shimmy down his hips. Cass hiked them back up with his one free hand.

 

“Wha’ time is it?” he asked, peering blearily.

 

“11:00, abouts.”

 

“Aw fuck that then,” and he plopped back down. “What are you doin’ to me anyway? Let a man be.”

 

Jesse rolled his eyes. “I’m giving you your tat.”

 

“My—? Ow! _Ow, ow, ow!_ Easy there, padre!”

 

“Mr. ‘I Can Handle Pain,’ huh? You big baby,” Jesse muttered and held Cass down with one foot.

 

It didn’t take long, but in that short amount of time Jesse realized that Cass was about the worst damn customer this side of the county line. He wiggled and whined and when Jesse went back over it he let out curses high-pitched enough to shatter glass. It was a freaking fiasco, and Jesse was damn glad he’d settled on something small.

 

He really scoffed though when Cass bitched through the aftercare too. You’d think anti-bacterial ointment and some bandages were the things to fear in life.

 

“Don’t touch it,” Jesse said, already slapping Cass’s curious fingers.

 

He grumbled some more. “The hell did ya put on me, eh?”

 

“You’ll find out in five hours.”

 

“Five hours?!”

 

“Minimum is two, but for you? Five.”

 

Jesse wasn’t a complete ass though. “Soak the bandage in warm water to get it off easy— _after_ the five hours. Here’s some of the ointment I use, wash and moisturize the tat at least twice a day. Don’t soak it, expose it to direct sunlight, or pick at the scab because I _will_ hunt you down and make you regret it.”

 

“Don’t need to be worryin’ about the sun,” Cass muttered. “But aye, aye, captain.”

 

“Glad to hear it, Spongebob. Now, you getting out of my shop or what? I open in less than an hour.”

 

Cass looked around then, really looked, like he was only just realizing that he’d slept on his neighbor’s floor instead of in his own bed. He took his time about it too, seeming to admire the whole damn shop while just sitting there in yesterday’s clothes. Jesse got the whole ‘seeing it in the light of day’ shit, but it really wasn’t much to look at in the first place. Small means for a small town and all that.

 

Finally Cass looked up at him and grinned. “Are you even gonna get any customers?” he asked, all cheeky like.

 

Jesse glared.

 

“Alright, alright. Find me a blanket or some such and I’ll be out of your hair. It’s damn barbaric, wakin’ a man at this time…”

 

First Jesse thought Cass meant to go back to sleep here, but a few more exchanges and he realized, no, the crazy ass was actually just scared of the sun. So Jesse dragged down his comforter and watched—half amazed, half amused—as Cass very carefully crawled out from beneath his chair.

 

He only stopped his bent shuffle at the door, right by the Sloopy John’s bag of food. Cass sniffed the air like a bloodhound.

 

“That for me?” he asked.

 

Rude bastard. “One of ‘em is.”

 

“Aw, you do love me,” and his hand shot out, quick as lightning to snatch one of the sandwiches. From beneath the comforter Jesse thought he heard Cass unwrapping it then and there. That proved true a second later when Cass’ voice came out muddled by food.

 

“Pretty immature shite we pulled last night,” he said.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Wanna do it again sometime?”

 

“Fuck yeah.”

 

“Cheers then. I’ll throw you another thanks or a thump when I see the tat, depending,” and Cass scurried back to his shop, Jesse’s comforter trailing in the dirt behind him.

 

“I wonder if I’m ever gonna get that back...”

 

***

 

For once in his miserable life Cass actually set an alarm. Exactly five hours after he left he woke up again, then immediately set his teeth on the bandages, soaking and moisturizing be damned. Bugger was already starting to itch, but Cass was more interested in seeing what was underneath. When he did, he let out a moan that was one third disgust and two parts respect.

 

“Jesse Custer, you absolute bastard.”

 

There on his right hand, just below his thumb, was a big ol’ “LOL” glaring up at Cass. It was stupid and childish and just the right amount of cool. He had to admit, far as tattoo jokes went, this one was well played.

 

Cass rolled onto his back, letting his hand dangle in the air as he stared at it.

 

“Cass old buddy, old pal... you are in _way_ too deep.”


	4. Chapter 4

7:00pm on a Sunday and Cass actually had a customer. Sort of.

 

Jesse Custer just couldn’t stay away.

 

He leaned in the doorway of Cass’ shop, big hands running over a Lamium Purpureum—or Dead Nettle, one of Cass’ favorites, and _no_ , it wasn’t just because of the name. Despite their love of the shade they grew red-purple flowers that always looked like tiny faces to Cass. He’d sometimes make faces back at them on his way out the door, and he certainly made a face now, what with Jesse massaging those textured leaves unconsciously, tall muscled man just posing perfectly against the fading light. Cass couldn’t help himself.

 

“Rubbin’ things a habit of yours, preacher?” he asked.

 

Cass cackled at Jesse’s glare, his hand snapping back from the plant so fast Cass hoped he hadn’t pulled something in the process.

 

“Get your head outta the gutter,” he muttered.

 

“Nah. It’s real comfy down there.”

 

Jesse didn’t stay anything else, just closed the door and rocked back on his heels, letting his gaze wander. Cass had only gotten up a few minutes before and he figured the preacher just wanted to see his shop like Cass had seen his. Only fair and what, since Cass had literally passed out on his floor. He left Jesse to it.

 

All in all, the man was surprisingly thorough, passing eyes over everything from the Bogeias to the Amethyst Flowers. Hands too. Not for the first time Cass noticed that Jesse was a remarkably tactile man and he wondered what he’d need to do to get those hands on him instead.

 

Maybe he was the wine and dine sort, where the dine was just wine and the wine was actually whiskey.

 

Cass made a mental note to steal some more from the liquor store.

 

Jesse stopped at the Coleus, bending down to peer at the green and purple foliage. “Looks like something out of Jurassic Park,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

 

“Ay,” Cass answered because he was a shit who wanted Jesse’s attention. “They’re popular, they are. You know, padre, that little there plant would look b—e—a— _utiful_ in that shop of yours.” Cass leaned on the counter and smiled.

 

“Uh huh.” Jesse side-eyed him. “How much?”

 

“Oh, just a lil’ bit...”

 

“Uh _huh_.” He shook his head. “Least I know you’ve got decent taste in films. I’m not hanging with anyone who doesn’t like a good dinosaur flick.”

 

“I hear ya. Worst film then, waddaya say?”

 

Jesse considered. “Dragonball Evolution.”

 

“Ooo.” Cass visibly cringed. “We don’t speak of that, no we don’t.”

 

Jesse mimed sealing his lips. “You?”

 

“Easy. The Big Lebowski.”

 

“...I like The Big Lebowski.”

 

“No, no you don’t because if you _do_ we can’t be mates anymore and you’re the only sane one I’ve found in this town so far. So no. That’s a shite film, padre.”

 

“If you say so.” Jesse raised his hands, though it hardly looked like he was surrendering. Instead he spun in a tight circle, seeming to take in the whole shop at once. “You actually sell anything yet?” he asked.

 

“Not really.” Cass shrugged, trimming the plant in his hands. “Gave a flower to a pretty thing on the side of the road a few nights back...” he squinted, holding a leaf up to the light. “Bah. Poor bugger, you’re not doin’ well, are yeh? Eh? Sorry, padre. Yeah no, gave her a real nice clippin’ of Forget Me Nots—smooth, huh? Hehe—but she sorta... shrieked and all. Pulled a can of mace on me. Right rude of her if ya ask me.”

 

Jesse smirked. “You approached a lone woman in the dead of night, in Texas no less, and pulled some damn flowers outta your pocket... you’re lucky she didn’t whoop your ass.”

 

“Oh she did, she did.” Cass gestured to his eyes behind his shades. “Got me full on in the face and left me there, skin burnin’ and heart bleedin’.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“What can I say, I’m a sucker for the pretty ones.” Cass held out the plant, batting his eyes.

 

“Really?” Jesse flicked one of the leaves. “Didn’t you just say this thing was infected or something?”

 

“... right. Hmm, yeah maybe not the best gift, aye? Unless you wanted to go down the whole ‘you’ve infected me with your love’ route?”

 

“I really don’t.”

 

It was teasing, pure and simple, the kind Cass had pulled with more people (and a few others!) than he could count over the years. More often than not it earned him a good right hook to the jaw, but he hadn’t underestimated his strange preacher, no siree. Jesse was still there, fuckable smile on his face and the thinnest blush rising up to his cheeks. Cass decided to push just a bit—in for a penny and all that, right? He spread his arms, very aware of his shirt rising up to show a strip of his abs.

 

“That’s fair,” he said, broad smile. “Take whatever you want then. Free a’ charge even. I only do that for the real special ones, you should know,” and he added a wink because why the fuck not.

 

Jesse had his own game going though. He posed against the cabinet laden with tools, actually posed like Cass was some stupid posh photographer about to take his picture. It wasn’t a bad idea actually, if Cass had anything like a camera to his name, but he was a bit distracted by the long leanness of Jesse’s form—the way he tugged deliberately at that collar.

 

“If you’re willing to give, I’m willing to take,” he said and fuck this man was _not_ subtle.

 

“Yep. Whatever your lil’ heart desires.”

 

“What do you suggest then?”

 

_Me_ , Cass wanted to say, but that might have been a bit too much, even for them. Flirting was one thing, actually getting with a man in this fine state was something else entirely.

 

Especially when the man was actually a vampire. And the other guy was a preacher.

 

... Jesus but Cass could pick ‘em.

 

“This one,” he said, suddenly serious. Jesse picked up on the change in tone and straightened, coming forward solemnly to receive the gift.

 

“Jade Plant,” Cass continued. “Not nearly as rare as the gem itself, but nearly as pretty if you’re askin’ me.” He lightly stroked the plant’s tip. “More important is it’s easy to grow. Perfect for a busy preacher and the like, yeah? Just don’t overwater it and you’ll be fine.”

 

Jesse had a rather hard look in his eyes. He examined everything from the size of the plant to the fine pot it was in, clearly not missing that this was one Cass had cared for diligently. Not that he neglected any of his beauties, but lil’ Jade had followed Cass for some years now, a companion when he sure as hell didn’t have anyone else. He’d carefully clipped her to ensure she never got too big, but beyond that he’d let her be herself for a long time now. She was a special one.

 

“I can’t take this,” Jesse said.

 

Cass flopped a hand. “You can an’ you will. Wasn’t jokin’ about nicking most of this stuff. Don’t know where it’s been or what its got in the way of surprises.” He nodded at the one he’d been examining before, the leaves tinted yellow. “This one though, Jade... she I can vouch for.”

 

So Jesse took the plant into his arms. Cass was embarrassingly pleased to see him cradle it like a child, all careful and delicate. Letting Jade go felt a bit like losing a friend, but Cass got the feeling he wouldn’t need her quite as much anymore.

 

“Why plants?”

 

“Huh?” Cass blinked. “What was that now?”

 

Jesse shrugged. “You asked me why tattoos last night... so why plants?”

 

Well now... Cass had already told him about his ma and the stupid flower language shite he’d been forced to learn as a kiddie, but he got the sense that his padre wanted a little more than that. And there was more. Maybe it was the whole being undead thing, but Cass was drawn to the living like a thirsty man drawn to drink. With all the literal darkness in his life—to say nothing of the blood—walking into a whole room of gorgeous plants was a damn breath of fresh air. It gave him something to do other than drink and mope (though he still did that too) and, theoretically, it might some day earn him a buck. Stranger things had happened.

 

One of them strange things was standing right before him.

 

“They always grow back,” Cass said, not sure how else to put it. He settled for pointing finger-guns at Jesse. “Nice doin’ business with you,” which was when Jesse’s hand shot out and grabbed Cass around the wrist.

 

“The _fuck_ ,” he said.

 

This was a new development. They’d passed bottles all last night and Jesse had held him still to give Cass the tat, but that had been during pain and drowsiness and the threat of sunlight on either side. Without these things Cass was free to catalogue just how rough Jesse’s hands were. He honestly hadn’t expected those kind of callouses on a preacher.

 

Cass was so enthralled with the press of a thumb against his pulse that it took him a long moment to realize that Jesse was... well, he sort of looked confused as hell.

 

“What,” he said, a pure statement of disbelief. He turned Cass’ wrist so that the goddamn ‘LOL’ was staring him in the face. “What the _hell_ , Cass?”

 

“What, what?” Cass squinted, trying to figure out what his padre was going on about. “Regrettin’ puttin’ this on me, huh? Oh yeah, you should ya bastard, you’ve got a real fine sense of humor, you—”

 

“It’s _healed_.”

 

“...Oh.” He looked at the tat again. “Ain’t it supposed to do that?”

 

“Not after a few hours!”

 

“Ah.”

 

Well what was the guy expecting anyway? Cass healed up scrapes and scratches like _that_ , and he’d had some leftover blood for breakfast soon as he got up. Between the two the little inflammation that was this tattoo hadn’t stood a chance.

 

Cass wiggled his fingers and sighed. “You’re not gonna buy the whole ‘vampire’ thing, are ya?”

 

Jesse squinted at him harder. Poor man was going to give himself a migraine. Proof was staring him right in the face, in the form of a lovely ‘LOL’ surrounded by smooth, healed skin. But oooooh no. That apparently wasn’t enough for ol’ Jesse Custer.

 

Cass sighed again. “I’m gonna have to set myself on fire, aren’t I? Maybe I’ll play with the lightin’… but listen, that shite ain’t happenin’ now with the sun all tucked in bed and the sky all lovely an’ clear, so why don’t you chalk this all up to the drink, go find Jade a nice home, and just overall fuck off for a bit?” He gave Jesse’s cheek a pat, letting him know it wasn’t personal.

 

Damn man was just too pretty. Cass needed a break every once in a while. For sanity purposes.

 

“Alright,” Jesse drawled. He swatted Cass’ hand away. “You answer me one question though.”

 

“Alright,” Cass mimicked.

 

“You know how to fix an air conditioner?”

 

Not a fucking clue. Cass wasn’t much for machinery. Something breaks? Toss it out and find another one. But hell, Jesse didn’t need to know that.

 

So Cass grinned, spreading his arms. “They call me the Air Conditioner King back home.”

 

Wow. If looks could kill. “Just fix the damn thing and Emily will thank you.”

 

“Who the ever lovin’ fuck is Emily?”

 

“Soon to be your best friend. She already loves the shop. Play your cards right, Cass, and you might actually sell something.”

 

“Ah, if only, mate.”

 

Jesse gave him a thumbs up with his free hand and then he and Jade were out the door, walking all of two feet before Cass heard the jingle of a bell identical to his. He shook his head as some god-awful country music started up.

 

“Jesus, my ears are bleedin’...”

 

Nothing for it though. He hoofed it up to his room, knowing damn well no one was coming into the shop this time of night. Cass threw himself onto his bed and grabbed his shitty, stolen iPad.

 

“Oh, magical Google,” he said. “Tell dear ol’ Cass how to fix the AC.”


	5. Chapter 5

Jesse didn’t know what they were doing anymore.

 

Not that he knew at the start either. He’d known the guy less than twenty-four hours and he’d already come to expect the unexpected from Cass. Case in point: the oddly beautiful plant that was now in a place of honor on Jesse’s counter, right where he could see it whenever he was working on a tattoo. If he ever _gave_ another tattoo. Maybe this was destined to be their lot in life. Cass would just keep giving Jesse plants, Jesse would keep giving Cass tats. The two of them would remain useless blokes for the rest of all eternity.

 

... there were worse things, honestly.

 

Sitting, Jesse decided to plan for just that. He had a sudden, all encompassing need to cover Cass’ skin—to mark him in some permanent way. If he couldn’t use his mouth… well, he’d just have to settle for ink.

 

That first tat had been a joke of course. Jesse had a fondness for small, simple tattoos—they allowed for just this kind of fun and silliness—but the rest of Cass deserved something better. He hadn’t been joking when he’d given his ‘all God’s creations’ speech last night. Drink made a fool of him, not a liar. The idea of inking something beautiful, relevant, even poignant was too good to pass up. It wasn’t every day you got a pale-ass bastard willing to let himself be your personal canvas.

 

“Not that he actually agreed to that,” Jesse muttered, sticking a fresh pen between his lips. He cranked up the music. “Cass will though. I’m persuasive...”

 

Jesse didn’t know what he was drawing until his pen was already smearing across the paper, quick and dirty sketching that he’d be compelled to re-trace later. It was abstract, a bit like a celtic knot and a bit like a flower.

 

In fact, it looked a lot like that spiky thing Cass kept in his front window...

 

***

 

“Yer fuckin’ useless, you are.”

 

Google hated him. Only explanation for it. Here he was typing every variation of “How do you fix the bloody fuckin’ air conditioner, ye shite??” and Google was touting stuff about motors and compressors and, “Be sure you know the model!” according to Sally from Wisconsin. Fuck you, Sally. He didn’t know what kind Jesse had. It was just a fucking machine. It _conditioned the air_.

 

All these questions about whether things were cleaned, blocked, up to date, did you try turning it off and on again? (Alright, that last one was legit). Cass got to “you may have a problem with the frozen evaporator coil” and promptly chucked the iPad across the room.

 

Something shattered. “Shite,” Cass said. He scrubbed a hand over his face. Wasn’t the way to a man’s heart through his stomach? Or at least his dick? But no, gorgeous Jesse Custer had to go and ask about air conditioners, the weirdo. Nothing for it then. He’d have to go and take a look.

 

Cass’ small room was a mess of takeaway, empty bottles, blood bags nicked from the hospital, and shitty clothing he’d pulled from a box on the side of the road. Stretched out on his air mattress (damn thing kept deflating, dammit), Cass hooked a shirt with his toe, lifting it up with a grimace. He knew beggars couldn’t be choosers, but this stuff he’d found was... well. “Bio hazard” was perhaps the words he was looking for. Either way, more sordid than even Cass was used to. Probably lice and all sorts of nasties hiding in there. Should just burn it all, really.

 

Which didn’t solve the problem of clothes, but whatever. He’d been pretty focused on collecting his beauties while driving cross country. Only bothered to steal the clothes when they were hanging out on that line, just begging to be taken. Now with his shop full but his truck dead and two shirts he’d been switching between for nearly a month now starting to stiffen up... hmm. Things were getting a little rank.

 

“Like a ripe ol’ fruit,” Cass said to the ceiling. He rolled onto his stomach with a groan, wiggling out of said smelly tee. “What else am I supposed to do?” he asked. Cass responded to his own question in a rough, rolling voice. It sounded a little too much like Jesse.

 

“ _Why don’t you wash the shit, you damn fool?_ But come now, be sensible. There ain’t no washer in this here place! _Laundromat right down the street, Cass_. That’s so much time though. And money! Why would I go through all that trouble, spending my coins on soaps and suds when they could be buyin’ candy bars, eh? _Maybe so that fine preacher doesn’t rear up his nose the next time he catches a sniff of you downwind?_ Or—hear me out now—I ditch the clothes entirely and parade around without a shirt for him. Hmm? Am I a genius or am I a genius? _…Why Cassidy, I have to concede that you are one motherfuckin’ genius_. Too right, mate, too right. Thank you for those kind, sensible words.”

 

So Cass didn’t bother looking for the second ‘clean’ t-shirt, buried somewhere under booze and blood. He just stretched and threw on a bit of ancient deodorant. Cass grabbed his sunglasses, a warm beer, and headed out the door.

 

Back under the stars Cass thought about taking two steps to the left and posing before Jesse’s door, letting the preacher get a good ol’ look at his skinny, pasty ass. (Not literally. Maybe later, when he was a tad bit drunk and willing to drop his jeans.) One peak in though showed Jesse bent over his table, a number of sheets spread out and scribbling madly. He honest to god looked like he was in some sort of ‘zone,’ so Cass just backed off, tip-toeing away. He could torture the preacher with his ugly mug some other time.

 

Right now, Cass had an air conditioner to fix.

 

He didn’t actually know where said air conditioner was, but he assumed it couldn’t be just Jesse’s if this “Emily” chick was gonna be pleased with its repair, and what did that leave other than the church? See, Cass could play Sherlock Holmes with the best of them. He strolled casually in its direction then, kicking debris here and there and sipping from his beer. The night was warm and the street deserted. Cass whistled the shit Jesse had been listening to as he ambled.

 

Seemed like everyone was either at home in bed or at the bar, its bright lights and ruckus atmosphere making it stand out easy. Cass passed it by with a touch of sorrow, giving the establishment a salute.

 

The church, in contrast, looked dead as the proverbial doornail. Weren’t they suppose to be welcoming and what? Cass tutted and slipped through an unlatched window. Honestly. Texas.

 

“Right: if I were a wee, miserable air conditioner, where would I be hiding...”

 

A minute’s exploration showed the place to be bigger than Cass would’ve imagined. If he’d bothered to imagine. Few weeks here and he hadn’t given two shits about what the church might look like (hoping and praying weren’t really his style), yet a few hours—twenty-four now, was it?—of knowing Jesse Custer and Cass might have pictured a dinky little chapel at one point or another. Fold-up chairs and the like. Just a little image to keep him entertained while polishing down the store. Though this wasn’t anything like the daydreams—not half bad overall.

 

The entrance looked newly swept after the storm, not a branch or drop of water marring the wood. Cass knew: his sight was something better than a human’s and his smell even better than a dog’s. The place positively reeked of Pine-Sol. Dust free too, so far as he could tell. Whoever was managing this place put a lot of time and effort into it... and Cass had a feeling that person wasn’t Jesse.

 

Call him psychic. Just something about the cavalier attitude and impromptu benders.

 

The expected pews and podium were through the front (Cass wondered how many of those seats actually got filled on a Sunday…) and to his right was a creaky set of stairs that, upon closer inspection, led to a balcony. Cass whistled when he discovered the living room, the kitchen, the office... whole damn house hidden in here. Way in the back though, right in the window over the couch, was a single, solitary air-conditioner.

 

“Look at you,” Cass cooed. “There ya are! Alright, you bastard, you’re gonna cough up some air an’ help ol’ Cass get laid, yeah?”

 

Except that ten minutes later that damn conditioner was still as dead as the proverbial doornail, only puffing out a single cloud of noxious gas, and hadn’t _that_ been reassuring. Cass tried everything he could think of from his quick google search, though frankly he didn’t know the Hoozit from the Whatchamacallit and all he ended up with was a few parts that had come undone and a handful of wires... which Cass tentatively shoved back inside. Really though, one ancient piece couldn’t trump 119 years of experience!

 

Except apparently it could.

 

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?”

 

Cass shrieked—yes, well and truly bayed like a lamb for slaughter—because though his eyesight and sense of smell were through the roof, vampirism hadn’t done shit for his hearing.

 

It let women sneak up on him real easy.

 

She was standing in the doorway of the living room, one arm wrapped around her middle protectively while the other held a can of pepper spray and—hey! Cass recognized that!

 

He waved at her, kneeling on the couch. “You’re the broad that sprayed me! You have any idea how much that shite stings?”

 

“I’m gonna spray you again if you don’t get the fuck out of my church. Don’t move!” she yelled when Cass made to stand.

 

He spread his hands. “Well which is it, luv? You want me movin’ or stayin’?”

 

“I—” She shook her head, the little face peering out of the shadows was furious. “Don’t try and confuse me.”

 

“Alright then. I’ll stay an’ go but I definitely won’t confuse ya.”

 

Cass grinned, carefully stepping down from the couch because he didn’t think the girl would actually spray him again. He’d been more than a little drunk the other night and maybe pulling squashed flowers out of his back pocket for the random woman walking home alone hadn’t been his best move... but what was a simple Irish bloke to do? You win some and you lose some.

 

“Look,” he said slowly, still aware that she was crouched like some kind of defensive cat. “I’m just here to fix the bloody air conditioner.”

 

Her eyebrows rose. “You? At—” she risked checking her watch. “One in the morning?”

 

“Well, I keep late hours an’ all...”

 

They were at something of a standoff, Cass keeping to the safety of the couch; her, the doorway. She had her nasty-ass spray and he had his vampire strength, not that she knew about that of course. Honestly though, he wasn’t about to rip some poor woman to shreds because of a bit of miscommunication. He wasn’t some heartless, stupid monster from one of them stories.

 

...well, Cass wasn’t _one_ of those things at least.

 

“You here to steal something?” she demanded and Cass actually spluttered out a laugh.

 

“It’s a church, luv. A broke one. What’s there to steal? A few water-logged bibles?” Cass gestured to text on the table which, yes, was warped from who knew what kind of situation. Holy water mishap maybe. Cass moved forward just a bit while the woman sized him up, keeping his hands in clear view. “Seriously now, I’m just lookin’ at this blasted contraption. Not hurtin’ anyone or nothin’. Call up Jesse if you don’t believe me.”

 

“Jesse?”

 

It was like a light coming on, and the clouds parting, and all those other silly things. The woman’s face cleared and she actually lowered the mace, posture relaxing into something that wasn’t just recognition, but joy.

 

Well now. That was mighty interesting.

 

“You know Jesse?” she pressed and Cass pulled himself from his daze. He grinned, slow and sure.

 

“You bet your pretty ass I do. Give him a call, why don’t ya?”

 

***

 

Jesse had gone through nearly a third of his sketchpad when the shop’s phone rang, scaring him half to death. He stared, slightly shocked, at the scattering of papers all over his desk, the achy stiffness in his right hand. Shaking it out, Jesse approached the phone with just a bit of trepidation. That thing had never rung before.

 

“Hello?” he said and a minute later Jesse was burying his face in his hands. “Yeah... yeah, Emily. ‘Course. I’ll be there soon.”

 

With a sigh Jesse flicked off the lights and kicked closed the door on his way out.

 

“Goddammit, Cass.”


	6. Chapter 6

“This is cozy, huh?”

 

Cass was of the opinion that you could grin your way out of nearly any situation. So here he was, grinning his fool head off as one of only two people he’d really met here glared at him from across the table.

 

At least he could make a good stab at the woman’s name now. While waiting incredibly awkwardly for Jesse to arrive, Cass spotted the simple chain she wore around her neck, the one with a cross and an ‘E’ slung right next to it. Sherlock Holmes was making a comeback because Cass would bet his balls this was the Emily Jesse had mentioned.

 

And didn’t that make a pretty picture? He comes onto Emily, Emily clearly wants the preacher, Cass didn’t think it was too arrogant to say the preacher wanted him, and fuck yeah was that reciprocated.

 

Yep. A pretty, awkward picture all around.

 

Cass leaned into the couch. He kicked his feet up onto the table and smacked a hand up into the air conditioner. “So. I’ve told you my story. How ‘bout yours?”

 

Emily continued to glare. She was sitting prim and proper in the chair across from him—or maybe the posture was better described as ‘poised to run.’ Even fight. Cass had no doubt that if he proved himself a wanker she’d break a leg off that chair and beat him bloody with it.

 

Fuc _k_ he’d found the best town.

 

“I forgot my purse,” she said eventually, gesturing to the receptacle that kept the Dreaded Mace. “In the kitchen. Right over there,” she gestured again, “because I, unlike some people, actually frequent the church and belong here.”

 

“Hey, hey now. No need to get insultin’. I’m tellin’ you, lass, I really was here to fix the air conditioner—”

 

“Call me ‘lass’ one more time and I’ll kick your balls up into your stomach.”

 

Cass froze, then nodded. “That... that’s fair. Alright-y then. Should I call you ‘Emily’ instead?”

 

He had only a second to savor her look of shock before Jesse sauntered in, stepping out of the shadows like every decent bad boy on TV. He got there right as Emily straightened with every bit of righteous fury available to her and snapped, “Have you been stalking me?”

 

Jesse pointed at Cass, frowning. “ _Have_ you been stalking her?” and his sudden appearance made her jump. Poor Emily leaned her head in her hands as Cass grinned.

 

“Certainly not, padre. Do I look the type to you?”

 

“Ye—”

 

“Don’t finish that. My intentions are pure, I assure you. I was simply here—”

 

“To fix the air conditioner,” Jesse finished. His mouth twisted into a frown, though the kind that was just waiting to become a laugh, given the right provocation. “I heard that coming in.”

 

Emily still had her face pressed to her palms. “Jesse Custer, please get him out of my church.”

 

“ _Your_ church?” and he looked so damn insulted that Cass let out a laugh, jumping to his feet.

 

“I think this moment calls for booze. Padre? Repeat of last night? Thought I saw some communion wine over yonder, if you’ll allow me...” While slipping past Cass laid a hand on Jesse’s arm. It was about as firm and warm as he’d expect—though the faint, anticipating shivers beneath his shirt sleeve were a wonderful bonus. Cass leaned up to stage whisper in his ear. “She’s the one who maced me.”

 

Emily glared. Jesse closed his eyes.

 

“Grab the whole damn crate,” he said.

 

***

 

Convincing Ms. Prim and Proper to partake in the church’s wine was no easy task... except it became v _ery_ easy once Jesse batted those eyes and started spouting logic, like how they had a ridiculously low turn out on Sundays (and therefore plenty of extra supplies). Or that she hadn’t had a drink in ages, wasn’t that right? Or Cass’ favorite: Do you really have anywhere better to be, Emily? Apparently the answer was _yes_ , she had three kids (holy shit, who wanted that many of the buggers??), but some guy named Miles was supposed to check in on them, so _maybe_...

 

Before he knew it the three of them were back in that tacky living room, not even bothering to turn on the lights—just like last night with Jesse. A lot of things felt the same, except that now they had the Texas quiet instead of a storm, extra company, and Cass had the pleasure of pressing in against Jesse on the couch, shoulder to thigh. He was thrilled when the preacher didn’t pull away and, when Jesse leaned his weight against Cass’ shoulder, Cass very nearly purred.

 

The contact didn’t seem to go unnoticed by Emily. She started at the two for a long moment... then grabbed the nearest bottle, pulled out the cork with her teeth, and chugged.

 

Cass stared. “Did—did she spit tha’ out?”

 

“Shhh,” Jesse said. He seemed to be taking a moment to collect himself. “How about some ground rules?” Without waiting for a reply Jesse held up three fingers, circling them in the air between them. “Emily, you do your best not to mace people in the face anymore—quiet, Cass. Cass, can you _not_ break into my church? Thanks. And I... I’m going to try and do better by this place.” Jesse lowered the last finger.

 

Emily tried valiantly to pick her jaw up off the floor. “You are?” she said and Jesse didn’t really know how to expand on that… So he just grabbed Emily’s bottle instead.

 

“Yes,” he finally said, not knowing how else to explain the change, all he’d been thinking about throughout the night. “I am. Trying. Might have even worked on a sermon if I hadn’t been interrupted, what the _fuck_ , Cass?”

 

Cass just shrugged, snagging the bottle for his turn. He tried not to be the sappy teen who thought about how the preacher had just ‘kissed’ the rim... and the pretty lady too, now that he thought about it.

 

He took a long swing, belched, and passed the bottle back to Jesse.

 

“You told me to fix the air conditioner,” he accused.

 

“Not in the middle of the night!”

 

“When the hell else is a vamp supposed to fix things?”

 

Cass tried to hold in his laugh as Jesse violently rolled his eyes. It was too cute how he refused to believe the whole vampire thing. And by ‘cute’ Cass meant that it was probably going to come and bite him back in the worst possible way—pun most definitely intended. But that was a problem for another night, one with far shittier company, namely his own. For now Cass just raised eyebrows and wondered how pretty Emily would take it.

 

She was still staring at them. Cass watched her take the bottle with limp fingers and grinned.

 

“Where did you even come from?” she asked, voice wavering with a bit of actual wonder. Or maybe it was incredulity. Whichever.

 

“Well now, that there’s a tale...” and Cass was pleased as punch when he felt Jesse pressing further into his side, head titled in pure curiosity. Oh yes, _this_ he could work with. “Kinda a long tale through, truth to tell.”

 

Jesse raised the bottle. “You got somewhere else to be?” Though the question was directed at both of them it really wasn’t much of a question at all.

 

Alright then.

 

So Cass told them, everything and anything. Most of it was true, though he might have cheery-picked the weirder aspects of 119 years in order to stretch their suspension of disbelief. No one wanted to listen to a boring story at a party after all, no matter how sad the damn party was. Spicing things up included rambling on about the mobs he got caught up in—human and vampire alike—and the month he sulked in a lake because a cheeky broad dumped him and really, you’d never imagine what great companions fish could make. Cass also slipped in that incident with the chicken and a gallon of lighter fluid, but that was just to see the look on Jesse’s face.

 

Boy oh boy, that expression didn’t disappoint. Oh, it was clear as day that the preacher didn’t believe a word of it, but getting Jesse to bubble out that hearty laugh felt like more of an achievement than Cass had managed in the rest of his miserable existence. What a laugh it was. He laid it on thick and when Jesse moved away he felt a pang... but it was only to lean against the couch’s armrest, his feet piled up in Cass’ lap like they’d been doing this for years. They were damn heavy things and Jesse’s boots were getting mud on his jeans, but Cass couldn’t care less. Hell, he’d never been more pleased to have ditched his shirt than when the toe of one of them boots nudged Cass’ bare stomach. A single touch and it felt like lightning.

 

Cass nearly forgot about Emily.

 

“... okay there, lass?”

 

Storytelling made for distraction and distraction led to mindless drinking. Cass had barely noticed how much they were going through because frankly, with a vampire’s constitution he could go through that whole crate just fine, and Jesse was no slouch either—for a mortal that is. This here was just a drink in the park, so to speak. But Emily...

 

“She dead?” Jesse asked, sounding like he was only half joking. Poor girl was draped over the side of her chair, head tipped back and—the only thing disrupting the dead theory—faint mumbles issuing from her lips. Cass barely managed to catch something along the lines of ‘never stood a chance’ and smothered a snort into his fist. Emily twitched at the sound, flopping back forward with a groan.

 

Jesse looked torn between laughing and crying. “Your kids are gonna kill me.”

 

“You’re scared of the lass’ _kids_?”

 

“She spawned them.”

 

“...fair that.”

 

Emily only seemed half aware of the conversation. She squinted hard at Cass and Jesse. “You two are _cozy_ ,” she muttered, too much emphasis in those words to miss. Jesse squirmed as Cass grinned, poised to take advantage of the situation.

 

“Are we? What about you then, lass? Got yourself a boyfriend?”

 

“…I got a Mayor.”

 

“The Mayor! He good to your kids?”

 

“Better than me, I guess.”

 

Cass blanched, not having expected that. Jesse hadn’t either. He was poised to interrupt a potential, drunken fight when she swung a limp hand out at him.

 

“What about that?” she slurred.

 

Cass made an exaggerated examination of his chest. “What about what?”

 

“You... you don’t have tattoos. Jesse _likes_ tattoos.”

 

“Does he now?” and Cass couldn’t help the wide-eyed sarcasm he poured into the words, enjoying the preacher spasming with laughter on his left. “Never woulda guessed it, with the tattoo shop an’ all.”

 

“I’ve never seen her drunk,” Jesse managed to wheeze. Emily was certainly giving them both a show. While pointing ineffectually at Cass’ lack of tattoos she’d continually slid down in her seat, becoming a rather crumpled mess that sharply contrasted her earlier posture. _This_ was the woman who might accept flowers from a bum on the road. Too bad it took so much to get her to that point.

 

Cass side-eyed Jesse. He wondered how many drinks it would take to get him like that.

 

“Never really felt the need for tats before,” he said, trying to get the girl back on some sort of track. Also hoping Jesse might spot the significance in those words. “Well! I’ve got more stories, but they’re too long for a late hour such as this.” Cass stood with a stretch, very aware that the position allowed him to show off his ass and chest—scrawny as it was. He didn’t dare look to see if Jesse was looking... but Cass did reach a hand out to help Emily to her feet. Maybe playing the gallant newcomer was the way to a preacher’s heart.

 

She took his hand... then tugged it towards her. She was a strong thing for one so wasted and Cass stumbled forward with a squawk. He could hear Jesse snickering behind him.

 

Emily peered carefully at the big ‘LOL’ on his hand. “You have one,” she admonished, like he’d actively lied to her. “Didn’t have that before...”

 

“Nope.” Cass grinned. “Ain’t that funny, you noticin’ my body, so careful like...”

 

He could feel Jesse shaking his head. “You’re barking up the wrong tree there, Cass.”

 

“Aye. Think the tree she’s lookin’ for is the one planted behind me.”

 

Emily was far too gone to follow the conversation, let alone see the briefly pained look that flit across Jesse’s face. She patted Cass’ hand like some damned, maternal grandmother and looked up at him, all big eyes and rosy cheeks.

 

“You fix that damned air conditioner,” she said, voice suddenly hard.

 

Cass leaned back, slightly frightened. “Yes, ma’am.”

 

“And the church needs flowers.”

 

“...alright.”

 

“And you should get a bird.” Emily pressed hard against the side of his hand, indicating the exact spot.

 

Cass could only blink down at her. “Uh, why?”

 

“Because you’re cocky as a fucking rooster.”

 

She said it so straight-faced, so earnestly, that it took Cass’ brain a long moment to process the words. By the time he did Jesse was busy smothering himself with a pillow he was laughing so hard.

 

In the end, he couldn’t help but grin. Jesus.

 

What a strange bunch they were.


	7. Chapter 7

Jesse decided that walking around drunk with Cass was just as good as sitting still drunk. With him.

 

And Emily.

 

“Would you _please_ do your share here?”

 

Cass snickered, though he obediently hefted Emily’s arm more firmly over his shoulder. He leaned forward to catch Jesse’s gaze on the other side. “Not sure this is appropriate—me without a shirt an’ all.”

 

“You’ll get an appropriate fist in your face if you don’t stop mentioning your damn naked chest. _Scrawny_ chest.”

 

“You noticed then!”

 

“You keep fucking bringing it up!”

 

“Ahh, but do you like me bringing it up?” and Cass nearly tripped as Jesse tried to kick him around Emily’s limp form.

 

“You’re impossible...” but if Jesse was being honest—and why the hell shouldn’t he be? Especially this time of night, this much to drink—he _had_ been staring at Cass’ chest, though it probably wasn’t for the (egotistical) reason Cass was assuming. After all, Jesse had grown up a preacher’s son in a goddamn Texan town, he knew very well how to admire a man without him knowing any admiring was going on. No, Jesse had slipped because for the first time he had a glimpse of how much skin Cass had to fill up, and Jesse couldn’t get the designs he’d been working on out of his head.

 

Strange as it was... that was a lust all its own. For him at least.

 

“Padre?”

 

“m’ here,” Jesse muttered, shaking his head. He nodded down the street and picked up the pace, forcing Cass to keep up with him, Emily pooling between the two of them. Jesse caught a glimpse and held back a snort, endlessly amused at what a light-weight she’d proven to be. Or maybe that wasn’t fair. He knew she could drink, she’d just never tried keeping up with them before.

 

“I think we owe her one,” he said, grinning. Cass just rolled his eyes.

 

“I supposedly owe her flowers now, so.”

 

Jesse wouldn’t be the first to admit that he thought flowers for the church was a grand idea. Spruce the place up a bit, make it more welcoming... he knew that he was just fussing with the details—no one would want to come if he didn’t get himself into shape—but surely some nice flowers wouldn’t hurt?

 

Jesse stared at Cass, not admitting why he suddenly wanted to be a better preacher so bad.

 

“Uh... padre?”

 

He blushed, thinking Cass had caught him, but then Jesse saw that they’d passed Emily’s house and he cursed, turning them both around. If Cass was laughing in the darkness Jesse couldn't quite see, so hopefully Cass couldn’t see his damn blush either.

 

Together they mounted the short steps to Emily’s place, Jesse heaving his half gently onto Cass so he could open the door.

 

“Hasn’t anyone heard a’ locks in this place?”

 

“Shh...no. Annville’s small enough that everyone knows everyone. You got her purse?”

 

“Yeah. Wouldda been a shame to have her forgettin’ it twice,” but Jesse could hear from his tone that Cass found the whole thing hilarious. He rolled his eyes in the darkness.

 

“This way.”

 

Jesse wasn’t sure what it meant that he could navigate Emily’s living room and kitchen with the lights out. It honestly didn’t feel like he’d been there that often. Just church meetings, pick ups, the times she’d roped him into babysitting...he supposed that all those tiny moments added up though. Jesse waved for Cass to stay by the couch, deftly avoiding all the toys that littered the floor.

 

“Just hurry it up, yeah? Lass is heavier than she looks.”

 

Cass had the easy job though. Jesse found that if Miles had popped in as he was supposed to, he hadn’t had much luck _keeping_ the kids in bed. Alice was at the kitchen table, looking like she’d gotten up for water, realized Mommy was still gone, and had curled up to wait. The night was too long for someone her age though and Jesse heaved her up easy, unsurprised when Alice didn’t even stir. She was the easy one. Pink room with covers already turned down. He tucked her in tight and shoved the weird blue bear under her arm.

 

“She’s a Stitch fan.”

 

Jesse nearly knocked himself out on the headboard, jumping out of his skin. He whirled to find Cass leaning in the doorway, dopey grin on his face.

 

“The fuck, Cass?”

 

“Aww don’t be like that. Em is safe on the couch. Nice place she’s got here.”

 

“Guess so...” Jesse rubbed angrily at this head. “Stitch?”

 

“Yeah, lil’ bugger in her arms there. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen Lilo an’ Stitch?”

 

“Can’t say that’s been an experience of mine, no.”

 

“Jesus fuck!”

 

“Shhh!”

 

“Oh right, sorry. Seriously though, padre, you and I need a movie night. Seen The Big Lebowski but not Lilo an’ Stitch, honestly.”

 

Jesse just rolled his eyes. Miracle of all miracles, Alice had actually stayed asleep during all that. Jesse shooed Cass back out the door, unwilling to deal with a four-year-old girl potentially waking up and shrieking about strange men in her bedroom. The boys’ room was right next door.

 

“Give me a hand with these lugs.”

 

Older than their sister, they had the later bedtime and had probably been pleased as punch to spend it in front of the TV without Mom. Both were sacked out in front of flashing cartoons, Eliot snoring slightly and Tommy still sucking his thumb. Cass snapped the TV off and picked up Tommy. Jesse pulled Eliot into his arms. Not knowing whose bed was whose, they shrugged and silently dumped the kids wherever was closer.

 

“Emily,” Jesse whispered. Cass nodded.

 

He kept to the sidelines, letting the man who actually knew Em do the heavy lifting now. Jesse got her around the shoulders and the knees, slipping into the back bedroom and depositing Emily gently on top of the covers. He settled only for removing her shoes and rolling her onto her side. He didn’t think she’d be sick, but better safe than sorry. Shaking his head, Jesse backtracked and nudged Cass back out of the house.

 

He turned at the crunch of an apple.

 

“Did you steal that from her fruit bowl?” he asked.

 

Cass took another massive bite. “‘Steal’ is a strong word now, ain’t it? I prefer to think of it as compensation. After all, wasn’t expectin’ my night to turn into babysittin’ now was I?”

 

“Wasn’t expecting to get a call from Emily that the ‘crazy stalker’ had broken into our church.”

 

“Alright now, there was _no_ stalkin’ going on, you’ve got misinformation here—”

 

Jesse chuckled. “I know, Cass. Stuff it.” He slung an arm around Cass’ shoulders.

 

Maybe a mistake on his part, because Jesse had full forgotten in the dark that his new neighbor had been prancing around without a shirt. Cass’ skin was cool and smooth, a balm for the hot weather under Jesse’s fingers. He froze, made to pull away, realized that would make things worse, and just sort of...stayed there instead. Cass didn’t seem to mind. At least Jesse assumed as much, considering he slung his free hand around Jesse’s waist and started ambling them back.

 

When Jesse’s brain rewired itself. He coughed. “You’re heading the wrong way, Cass.”

 

“... right. Damn place makes no sense in the dark.”

 

This made sense though. Apparently. Shuffling back to their stores a little drunk, steadying one another, Cass passing Jesse the apple and his mouth covering the spot where his had been. It suddenly struck him that it was a fucking _apple_ and sin and all that shit... Jesse choked.

 

“Okay there, padre?”

 

“... Peachy.”

 

“Heh. Don’t you mean apple-y?”

 

“Don’t you ever shut up?”

 

“Nah, not really.”

 

Despite the declaration they walked in silence a long time, still sticking close until there was a thin sheet of sweat between them, holding them together. They kicked leaves and twigs out of their way, periodically passing the apple back and forth, and Jesse was just reluctant enough to break the camaraderie that he said, “Another drink?” the moment their shops came into view.

 

“Always, padre. No need to ask—you know the answer.”

 

Fair point that. Jesse was learning.

 

***

 

Back where they started.

 

“Have I really known you just a fuckin’ _day_?” Cass said, lounging in the recliner once more. Jesse grinned because yeah, it felt a damn bit longer to him too. He kept trying to shuffle his designs into some manageable order, but they were as scattered as his thoughts, moving this way and that over too many different topics. He saw Cass craning his neck and held a few up, a barely noticeable blush staining his cheeks.

 

“Just sketches,” Jesse mumbled. Cass was grinning like a loon though.

 

“Those for me? Aww, what a fuckin’ softie you are. Particularly like the ones across me asscheeks.”

 

Jesse choked. “That’s your lower back. That’s a dimple!”

 

“Uh huh. You tell yourself that, padre.”

 

“I fucking will because I’m the one who drew them.” Jesse stuffed the rest of the designs into a folder, accompanied by Cass’ snickers. For all that though Jesse still pulled out his supplies, motioning for Cass to lie back.

 

“I’m gettin’ another one?” he asked and Jesse was pretty pleased by the surprise there.

 

“Yep. Didn’t Emily say something about a bird? Wouldn’t want to disappoint her, now would we?”

 

There was much grumbling, more than one rude gesture thrown, but Cass did stretch out at Jesse’s command. It took longer this time around. He wanted to get a stencil done first.

 

“Treatin’ Jade right, I see,” Cass commented.

 

“I’ve had her for a night, Cass”

 

“Yeah well, plenty of time for you to fuck her up, I’m sure.”

 

Jesse just shook his head, letting Cass ramble. He really wasn’t good at keeping quiet. Jesse had discarded a number of styles and Cass had told him about everything from craving pancakes to liking that alien design on his wall, when he said, “What’s this about you bein’ better then?”

 

Jesse froze. Went back to sketching. “Better what?”

 

“Aww, no don’t go givin’ me that.” Cass wagged a finger critically. “Better preacher a’ course. What you were sayin’ to Emily. Or was that all just bullshit to cool her head down?”

 

It wasn’t bullshit. Jesse had always wanted to be a better preacher, side job tattooing or no. The need to make a difference—the challenge—was something that ate at him, sappy as it sounded.

 

He held up the tracing paper. “Hold still for this and I might just tell you.”

 

“Yeah right.”

 

Cass did put his beer down though, stretching out once more. He turned his hand and Jesse stared hard at that ‘LOL’, perfectly healed. Far too late in the day to be worrying about that. Such things were Future Jesse’s problem. So he just ignored Cass’ grin, turning his hand and laying down the outline on the other side. It didn’t take him long after that. Within fifteen minutes Cass had his second tattoo, an outline of a bird facing out at Jesse.

 

“Not bad, padre,” he murmured. “Fierce and pretty... a lot like you.”

 

Jesse didn’t know how much of a gamble that was for Cass. Whether he said that sort of stuff to every man he managed to befriend. But it did make him think about his own promise and for a moment Jesse struggled with his thoughts, how to articulate why he suddenly wanted to _do_ something with his life.

 

After all, he couldn’t just say that the arrival of a certain Irish asshole had made him self-conscious.

 

“Padre?”

 

So Jesse leaned up to kiss him instead.

 

Maybe it didn’t get the message across, but it was accepted by Cass nonetheless. If kissing was like drowning than this was a riptide, pulling them both down so hard and so fast that there was no hope of finding the surface again. Which was fine as far as Jesse was concerned. Who needed to breathe? He fell on Cass with no real technique, just quick nips and slow pulls that heated Jesse from his cheeks to his toes. Cass swept his tongue into Jesse’s mouth. Jesse tasted the communion wine and something coppery, something he couldn’t yet name. But then Cass hauled him on top of the chair and Jesse got to feel his bare chest in circumstances not public or badly timed. It was as cool as his hands. The revelation brought on a gasp that broke them apart.

 

“I need to bandage your tattoo,” Jesse said. He didn’t mind Cass’ grin, but that was still important to him. Maybe Cass saw.

 

“Alright then,” he conceded, gesturing to the dressings.

 

That seemed even more intimate then: climbing slowly off of Cass so as not to hurt him. Wiping antiseptic over his skin. Taping up his design. Before it was covered completely Jesse caught one more glimpse of the bird and had stupid, sappy thoughts about flight.

 

Cass was staring at Jade when he was done, the dopiest smile on his face.

 

“Think we’ve found ourselves a right home here, haven’t we, girl?”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene from the beginning of this chapter is very gratefully borrowed from Tumblr users demisexualmerril and koscheiis--for their idea and knowledge/words, respectfully. 
> 
> Their original post can be found [here](http://kaythelostgirl.tumblr.com/post/145899194947/flower-shop-au)<3

Weeks passed quick as their days and Jesse was in Cass’ shop when everything went topsy turvy.

 

One hell of a woman barged through the front.

 

“...shit,” Jesse said.

 

“You know her?” Cass whispered, fast as he could. She was already marching up to the counter, all loud boots and flaming eyes. Jesse had backed up three steps.

 

“Padre?”

 

“Oh yeah—” but by then she was there. Cass glanced uncertainty between her and Jesse but all the lass did was stare him down, hard enough that he swallowed a bit before opening his damn gab hole.

 

Hell, Cass took his own step back for good measure. “Hello there? Ah. Right... that... wasn’t meant to be a question?”

 

She just rapped her knuckles on the counter. “You got flowers here?”

 

“Uh...”

 

“Good. So what kinda weeds do I need to passive-aggressively say ‘fuck you’ in flower?”

 

Beside him Cass saw Jesse slowly closing his eyes.

 

The woman was damn expectant though—positively vibrating in anger—so Cass thought it best to get her the flowers... and maybe show off for Jesse just a bit. It wasn’t like they actually got any customers around here...

 

So Cass leapt over the counter, accompanied by the woman’s startled look and a groan from Jesse. He might be in the business of stranger types of plants, but he still had enough of the common stuff, especially for a woman of her caliber. Cass grabbed a whole handful of geranium (hello, you are stupid) a bit of foxglove (insincere), meadowsweet, (WOW you’re useless), yellow carnations (what a disappointment you are), and—though he had to run in the back for them—a few orange lilies to inspire hatred. It was oh so striking and just wonderfully full of loathing.

 

“Here you are, luv,” and Cass twitched at the endearment, only because _she_ twitched, and overall it was like diffusing a bomb when she finally took the bouquet.

 

“This says all that?” she asked, peering at it a might too suspiciously for Cass’ taste.

 

“Yeah...”

 

“Alright then.”

 

Without missing a beat she turned on her heel, marched forward, and shoved the whole lot of it into Jesse’s chest. He buckled like it was a bullet rather than a bouquet, but he still managed to catch it all before it scattered. Cass watched open-mouthed as petals crumpled and leaves fell.

 

“For you,” she growled and marched straight out the door.

 

“W-wait! You need to pay for those!”

 

“Good luck with that, Cass.”

 

Jesse was brushing bits of plants from his black shirt, watching the woman leave with a mixture of horror and blatant longing. Cass sidled close because yeah, he thought he could see what Jesse saw.

 

“Cass, meet Tulip Fucking O’Hare.”

 

“…I need this story, padre. _Now_.”

 

***

 

Thing was, Jesse was an unexpectedly good storyteller. Even when there wasn’t much to work with. Cass supposed it came with the preaching job, but he’d honestly heard the ‘boy meets girl, boy fucks girl, boy and girl have a falling out’ tale a thousand times before—far more than the average guy, certainly. Jesse admittedly had the advantage of crazy sex, bank robberies, and childhood promises to spice things up a bit, but the general outline was still the same.

 

“You found a _what_ in the bank?”

 

“Jesus, Cass. The fucking sex-shit ain’t important.”

 

“I beg to differ.”

 

Jesse toyed with the leaf on a Dicentra Spectabilis. Cass thought about pointing out the common name—Bleeding Heart—but that might just piss him off. More, that is.

 

When Jesse continued to glare. Cass just waved him down.

 

“Fine, fine, so you and Ms. Tulip are thick as thieves—literally—until what? You decide randomly to just run back to the church? A freakin’ _holy_ life? Don’t insult me, padre.”

 

But Jesse had gone still at his words, totally frozen as he stared at a spot on the wall. Cass had only seen this once before, their first night together when he’d—

 

_—finished taping up Cass’ new tattoo, using his bandaged hand to guide him up the stairs and into his apartment. It wasn’t much overall, the same sort of barren existence that Cass would expect of a broke frat boy or, yes, a man of the cloth. Though there was nothing holy about the space, not with filthy dishes piled on the table, an unmade bed, clothes strewn about, outdone only by cigarette butts, and enough empty bottles to make target practice worth it. Not that Cass cared about any of that. Point was, there was a bed and one good tug of the sheets gave them the space they needed._

_Jesse was whining. Cass hadn’t expected him to be so vocal... though he probably couldn’t take all the credit. Who even knew the last time the guy had gotten laid? All Cass needed to do was lick a strip of skin here, palm him through his pants there, and Jesse melted, pooling until Cass was near holding him up._

_He chuckled. “Goin’ shirtless did the trick, eh?”_

_“Would’ve happened anyway,” Jesse panted. “You, single, living next door. Me, single—”_

_“We’re a fuckin’ trope, we are,” Cass said and interrupted him with another kiss. Jesse tasted a little stale, like he hadn’t bothered to give his body much of anything in ages, and Cass swore then and there to spoil the bastard._

_He ran a hand through Jesse’s hair, then dragged it down to the buttons on his shirt. For some reason he loved the contrast of his white gauze and the black material, some sort of strange reversal of their morals. Not that Jesse would realize this. Man still thought he was joking about the whole vampire thing... though the fact that he still wanted the ‘crazy’ was heartwarming in another way entirely. Maybe Cass would just bite him and see how he took that._

_First things first though._

_He opened one button at a time, slow, doing an awkward little shimmy to get a laugh out of Jesse. Revealing his chest was a sight, literally watering Cass’ mouth in a way he hadn’t experienced in years. He was perfect—smooth and tanned but for the white scares slashing here and there, stories he’d have to pull out of Jesse another time. For now Cass concentrated on more pleasurable things. He took Jesse’s nipple into his mouth and ran his teeth there until Jesse threw back his head._

_“You even want me on the bed?” he asked, panting. “Because I’m telling you, Cass, this first time ain’t gonna be long—”_

_Cass just dug hands into Jesse’s hips, pressing a grin against his collarbone. “What I want, padre, is to you bent over the flimsy desk there. See if we can’t break the ugly thing.”_

_“I do hate that desk,” Jesse said, chuckling as Cass turned him by the shoulders._

_It was then that he spotted it: a dark tattoo painted in the top center of Jesse’s back. Cass would have expected the artist’s body to be covered, or at least to find something equally hard for the hard-drinking preacher, like a skull, or something else cliché and badass... but no. It was a footprint, painted small._

_Cass’ hand rose without his permission, touching one of the toes._

_Jesse stilled—_

 

—and finally breathed again, glancing out the door where Tulip had gone. He stared there, the floor, anywhere else before finally fixing Cass with an unreadable look. Jesse raised a hand and lightly tapped the top of his back.

 

“Lost a baby,” he muttered.

 

Cass felt like he’d taken a punch to the gut, because he suddenly saw moralistic Jesse and furious Tulip losing one of the most precious things the world had to offer, the sheer magnitude of that weight between them. It was the kind of change that would either tie them together or push them apart, and it seemed like fate had decided on the latter.

 

He didn’t need Jesse to spell it all out for him. Cass could easily picture a miscarriage (the foot was so small, why no name?) amidst all the general excitement of their lives. He saw Jesse, born into religion and money, crawling back to his hometown because what else was there for him? Suddenly looking to God made more sense. Trying to tattoo beauty into others did too.

 

Cass could have asked a lot of things. How long he and Tulip had been together. Whether he still loved her. If their frequent shags and flirting meant a damn in the grand scheme of things. But he wasn’t that much of a bastard. Certainly not one worthy of standing against her. So instead Cass just asked,

 

“How long since you left?”

 

Jesse’s look melted into something softer. Perhaps gratitude.

 

“Two years, maybe.” Then he shook his head. “Fuck. Who am I kidding. It’s been two years, three months, and a handful of days. Those I’ll admit I’m not sure about.”

 

“Ain’t the real question though, is it, padre?” Cass bent and grabbed a dustpan out from underneath the counter, tossing them to Jesse. He motioned for him to start cleaning.

 

“What you really gotta figure out is why she’s back now.”

 

***

 

In the end it wasn’t much of a conversation. Jesse admitted the overall Tulip had a... how should he put this? An absolute hatred of Annville. Growing up black and an O’Hare to boot wasn’t easy, and besides a drunk uncle (and a Jesse) she really didn’t have anything to come back to. Cass had actually met said uncle two weeks before, pointing out the drunk, pant-less man to Jesse and asking if he wanted to tattoo the guy’s ass. He hadn’t understood Jesse’s angry glare at the time.

 

Live and learn.

 

Though really, Cass had to learn to stop getting himself into these fucking situations.

 

“Is this your fault?” Tulip asked.

 

It had been clear as watered down beer that Jesse needed a bit of time to himself, sauntering back to his shop after helping Cass clean up the mess. Wasn’t anything else for it but to try and do some actual work, so Cass had grabbed a few of the beauties he’d been growing (piled lovingly in a wagon he ‘borrowed’ from Emily’s kid) and dragged them off to the church. He was reminded a little too much of that kiddie’s game:

 

_Here’s the church_

_Here’s the steeple_

_Open the door..._

_...and there’s your boyfriend’s ex with a hammer._

Seriously. Why the fuck did she have a hammer?

 

Tulip pointed said instrument at Cass, causing him to stumble back into his wagon. What a scary woman she was.

 

“Leaky roof at my uncle’s,” she said, making Cass blink. “I come for tools,” (oh) “and find...what the fuck even is this?”

 

She gestured and Cass took in the church, a might bit different from when she’d last seen it, he imagined. In the last month or so he’d kept his word to Emily, bringing in some of his prettiest flowers—for free!—and placing them around the church, hoping to brighten things up a bit. Well, he’d managed that, though the larger intention of getting people to actually like the place... that hadn’t worked out so well. Despite flowers and ferns dotted all between the pews, overflowing each window, and bookending the pulpit, Jesse was still getting just a trickle of Annville’s residents each Sunday. He’d tried sprucing (ha) up his sermons too, many of them quite beautiful in Cass’ opinion, but still nothing. If anything, people were complaining _more_. The flowers made them sneeze. It was far too gaudy for a small-town church. Who did the preacher think he was, pouring all the money into aesthetics when there were kids to feed?

 

Cass had tried telling that particular woman that Jesse hadn’t paid for the flowers and, frankly, her kids were already damn well fed... that hadn’t gone over well.

 

“Are you listening to me?”

 

“...no,” Cass said honestly. Tulip looked like she was about ready to spit fire and truly, Cass was more than a little turned on by it. She had all Jesse’s passion without, at least currently, his charm, the emotions wrapped up in a tiny, vibrating body that looked about ready to explode. Or cry. Cass had never dealt well with tears, so he figured making Tulip angrier was the way to go.

 

Help her release what needed releasing.

 

“Jesse told me all about you,” Cass said, casual as he could. “If you came back for him, well, we’ll have to work something out, sweetheart. He’s moved onto me. You’re the old news... especially now that you don’t have the kid to keep him with you.”

 

It was the cruelest thing Cass had said in years, and apparently exactly what Tulip needed. She let out a shriek that was piercing and too sad for Cass’ old heart to deal with. Her arm swung out with the hammer, shattering the pot of the snapdragon Cass had put where Jesse could see it, sending soil and shards every which way. Tulip worked her way down the line, demolishing everything she could, until she was on him, tossing the hammer aside to grab Cass with mud-smeared hands. She threw them to the ground. She made sure he hit the wagon on his way. Cass let Tulip straddle his hips and pummel him with a few fantastic rights, smelling the perfume of flowers and listening to her heavy breaths. Whoever she was hitting, it wasn’t really him—and wasn’t that just Cass’ lot in life.

 

Tulip pulled her last swing just in time, grabbing him by the shirtfront instead. “You think I didn’t know the second I walked in?” she said, pulling his tee low to show off the swirling patterns Jesse had tattooed over the weeks, long hours in the chair as they talked. Cass looked where she looked and saw what Tulip saw. “I _know_ his work.”

 

She ripped off her jacket and pulled off her shirt. Written above her collarbone were the words, “ _Until the end of the world_.”

 

“This was his promise to me,” Tulip seethed. “Where the fuck do you fit in?”

 

Cass spat blood and grinned. “Don’t know, luv. I’m just a simple, Irish vampire... but I think Jesse needs something simple right now, don’t you?”

 

“Screw you,” Tulip said and pulled him up into a kiss.

 

It was as bruising as her punching and hurt ten-times more, for the simple reason that Cass knew it couldn’t last. Sure enough Tulip was scarping teeth and pulling back just a second later, throwing her head back to see how he’d taken it. Cass was left with nothing but her eyes and the sharp pain in his side.

 

“If we’re finished with the hittin’ me part a’ the evenin’,” he ventured. “I recommend findin’ me some blood, cleanin’ this mess, and takin’ that poor hammer back to your uncles’.” Cass offered Tulip the sunniest smile he could.

 

“Though I’m _real_ bad at fixin’ things.”


	9. Chapter 9

Jesse was a Grade A procrastinator and the fucking king of avoiding responsibilities. Even when those responsibilities literally came and shoved insulting flowers up in his face. He’d always known Tulip would find him. He just hadn’t thought she’d come while he was still in _Annville_.

 

Maybe that’s why Jesse had bothered to stay so long.

 

He wasn’t a fool. Prettying up the church and adding some actual honesty to his sermons would only do so much good when the town wasn’t willing to listen anymore. And what did Jesse have to tell them about God? He didn’t even know what _he_ believed anymore, only that he’d needed to find something good... and he couldn’t very well say, “Can’t fix your son’s MS, Sally, but life’s still worth living if I can tattoo something beautiful into an equally beautiful man’s skin. Life might be worth it if you could leave something like that behind.”

 

Not that Jesse could hold Cass up as an example either, so.

 

Only decent thing to come out of his experiment was Emily: a little looser and a little more confident after their strange night in the church. She’d thanked him for putting her to bed without the slightest blush, and Jesse couldn’t help but think that that was something like progress for them. What was it Cass had said? He wanted a tattoo tally for every person in love with Jesse Custer.

 

Fucking sentimental asshole.

 

“Preacher?”

 

Jesse jumped and immediately tried to cover it up, turning quickly. He hadn’t had a customer in two goddamn months, but he got one now?

 

He stared, then sighed.

 

“Hey, Donnie.”

 

***

 

“Are you sure you don’t need a hospital?”

 

“You sure you don’t actually want me bleedin’ out?”

 

“...up for debate.”

 

Tulip was staring hard and horrified at Cass’ side, a large piece of the pot he’d hit on the way down sticking out of his ribcage. It was a real nasty cut, the large chunk of ceramic wedged in there good. Cass knew the moment he pulled it out he’d be bleeding all over Tulip’s stained and disgusting carpet.

 

Home sweet home and all that.

 

It was funny how living long and getting into the kind of scraps Cass did could warp your perception of things. At least in terms of what were ‘lethal’ wounds—not much was lethal for him anymore, so any stab wound might as well be a paper-cut (both hurt in Cass’ opinion, anyone who said the paper-cut didn’t was _lying_ ), and yet...

 

“Don’t want to get blood all over your carpet, luv,” he said, mustering up a grin. Not that it mattered much. There were already drips and drops from where Tulip had dragged him inside and Cass was pretty sure he was leaving a smear on the couch he leaned against.

 

A loud snore drew his attention. Cass peered wearily at Tulip’s uncle, sprawled out on the couch, his drooling mouth just a few inches from Cass’ ear. He smelled of beer and unwashed... everything.

 

“It’s fine,” Tulip bit out. “He’s fine. Don’t know how much he’s had but he’s more likely to stay asleep then not.” She paused, seeming to gauge every bit of Cass that she could. “You got fangs then?”

 

“Nope.” Cass pulled back his lips, then grimaced horribly. Damn girl had really socked him.

 

“Mirrors?”

 

“And not get to look at this mug? Tragedy.”

 

“Garlic?”

 

“I fucking love Italian.”

 

“Sunlight?”

 

“...aye.” Cass felt a little weary handing out his one weakness to his boyfriend’s ex, but Tulip just kept staring him down, didn’t even stop to process the information.

 

“Crosses?”

 

And that there was definitely worse. Cass took deep breath. “Been hanging out with Jesse, haven’t I?”

 

Tulip nodded, all slow like. “You have,” she said, and it sounded like... well, Cass didn’t know what the fuck it sounded like. All he knew for sure was that Tulip hadn’t grabbed the knife out on the kitchen counter. Yet, anyway.

 

“Last question,” she said. “You really need blood to get rid of that?” and she gestured to the shard in his side.

 

“Yeah... unless you want me chomping on your uncle here...”

 

“Touch him and I _will_ kill you. Stay here.”

 

“It was just a—I wasn’t… ah hell, that’s too much blood for this lil’ scratch anyway.”

 

The joke fell flat, mostly because Tulip was already out the door and slamming it shut behind her. Cass blinked, looking around at the mess and smelling the stink, wondering how he’d gotten here and where he was meant to go now.

 

Alone—well, with Uncle O’Hare anyway—Cass finally allowed himself one taut, shuddering sigh. He _did_ know how he’d gotten here, old heart always had been too willing to jump the second someone gave him a reason to....and Jesse Custer was six million reasons all wrapped up in a pretty bow.

 

“Six-six-six maybe,” Cass muttered, wiping briefly at his eyes. “But hell, girl, he deserves someone better than me.”

 

“No he don’t,” Tulip said, scaring the hell out of Cass. She slipped back through the door with a dish-towel in one hand...and something else squirming beneath her shirt. She hesitated in the threshold of her own home, still giving Cass a look that made his skin prickle and his mind flood with possibilities.

 

She tilted her head, slightly cat-like. “Jesse Custer is a lying, cowardly, holier than thou bastard who ain’t fit for anyone good in this world. I’m not good though, and neither are you. I mean Jesus fucking Christ. A _vampire_.” She tossed him the towel. Whatever was under Tulip’s shirt gave a squeak. “He’s all I’ve got though. I’d wager he’s more than you’ve ever had. I came back for him... and I ain’t in the mood for a fucking YA love-triangle here.”

 

Cass felt his lips pulling back in one of the most genuine smiles he’d experienced in years. “What exactly are you proposing then, luv?”

 

“Not a fucking clue. Pull that shit outta your side, fix my roof, and maybe— _maybe_ —we’ll plan something stupid.” Tulip gave him a once over. “You’re not bad for a skinny rat.”

 

“Jesus, you’re gonna make me blush. Room service too? That _is_ something small and furry you’ve got there, yeah? Or are you just that happy to see me?”

 

Cass pulled the shard out of his side with one massive tug, sending blood pouring all over Tulip’s white carpet.

 

It felt like some kind of promise.

 

***

 

Night, and Jesse was glad for it, if only because the idea of Cass and Tulip alone in the same place was only marginally better with the sun down. Like the dark would allow for some kind of miracle.

 

Imagine his surprise then when they strolled down the street together, entering Jesse’s orbit just as Donnie left.

 

“What the hell,” Jesse intoned. Seeing them side-by-side was perhaps the _strangest_ miracle he’d ever been blessed to witness.

 

Tulip cocked her thumb at the retreating figure. “Could ask you the same thing. Why is Donnie fucking Schenck walking out of your place without a shirt?”

 

“Because after two months he finally got up the nerve to ask for a ‘Property of Betsy’ tattoo down his back.”

 

Tulip stumbled slightly while Cass threw his head back and roared at the stars. Jesse smiled with them. He and Donnie had never been on perfect terms—a bar fight here, judgment there—but he was decent guy, at least as far as the Annville folk went. Learning about his and Betsy’s... _preferences_ had been a little more than Jesse’s morals were prepared to accept.

 

Though he guessed he already had. If the tattoo said anything at all.

 

Maybe that was the only kind of beauty that Annville had to offer.

 

Except for these two of course: Tulip shaking out her hair in the moonlight, Cass stretching up his arms and—was that blood on his stomach? Jesse wasn’t sure he understood why they walked so close together, or how Cass had earned that look Tulip kept giving him, but the fact that they both kept looking at Jesse too rounded up his heart-rate.

 

There was proof in the firm steps Tulip took to reach him. The confidence with which she pulled him down for a kiss.

 

It was familiar— _so_ familiar—that for just a second Jesse felt his knees beginning to buckle, his hands finding their place back around her hips. Tulip’s lips were just as soft as he remembered, his fingers moving up to catch in her curls, the slow, languid way she rocked against him, like she hadn’t been furious just hours before. But that was Tulip for you. Hot and cold and quick as lightning. The only real difference was—

 

“You taste like Cassidy,” Jesse growled, turning to direct the question his way. Cass was pale in the dark, eyes hollow with what Jesse might say next. Hell, Jesse feared what words he might spout, so he leaned forward to kiss Cass instead.

 

Him tasting Cass, tasting like Tulip.

 

Cass rocked pulling out of it, one hand raising to touch Jesse’s cheek... but then it stopped.

 

“We’d better talk, padre.”

 

***

 

‘Talk’ for them meant alcohol under the stars. Another storm was rolling in, though they weren’t gonna move for it. Tulip and Jesse were already laid out comfortably on the burned grass, waiting for Cass to come back with more beers.

 

“The fuck you mean he’s a _vampire_?”

 

“He really never told you?”

 

“Well yeah he told me, but it’s not like I believed him!”

 

They’d been at it a good five minutes. Jesse didn’t know which was harder to believe: that Tulip was actually trying to convince him that his boyfriend was some supernatural, blood-sucking creature... or that he could actually call Cass his ‘boyfriend’ still and maybe, amazingly call Tulip his ‘girlfriend’ too.

 

“Forget Cass for a moment,” Jesse said. He ran a hand over his face. “What about us? We… good?”

 

“When the fuck we ever been _good_ , Jesse?”

 

“Don’t give me that shit. You show up outta nowhere--”

 

“Which is still better than you! Run off, try to make your daddy’s church into something decent, are you fucking kidding me—”

 

Jesse tossed grass in her face. It was an argument too old to rehash now. He took in a deep breath instead.

 

“The church... the church isn’t much, yeah. I’ve never denied it. Fuck, Tulip, you know I wanted more, hell we _had_ more before—”

 

“We were _gonna_ have more,” Tulip corrected. Thunder accompanied her statement.

 

Jesse swallowed. “This was the only place I knew to go to after... everything. But fuck, I ain’t blind. No one gives two honeyed shits about God around here. Emily’s tried, I fucking tired the last few weeks, if you’d believe it. Not exactly making a fortune in tattoos and flowers either, so what’s the point? Whatever ‘more’ is, it’s not in fucking Annville, Texas.” Jesse fumbled out a cigarette, his lighter, and managed to get it lit in just two tries, despite his hands shaking. “...suppose I found Cass here, at least.”

 

To his everlasting shock a laugh bubbled out of Tulip. It was the first he’d heard in years.

 

“You comparing Cass to our child?” she asked and the joke loosened something in Jesse he hadn’t even realized was there.

 

“He is pretty immature.”

 

“Oy I fuckin’ heard that!”

 

Jesse craned his neck. “Good! You were meant to. Took you long enough.”

 

“Shut your face, it’s not like we’ve got much left.” Cass hefted to cans consideringly. “Hmm. Will it be lukewarm shit or near boiling shit? I think your mini-fridge is busted.”

 

“Along with my air-conditioning.”

 

“Do not start up with that I tried fixin’ a roof today—”

 

“Emphasis on ‘tried,’” Tulip muttered.

 

“Tempted to give you the boilin’ can now, luv. C’mon. Waddaya want?”

 

Tulip tilted her head to look up at Cass, waving the cans above her. She seemed a little too serious. The rain started down right before she spoke, soaking all three of them.

 

“What I want,” Tulip said slowly, “is to leave this shit town with what I came for,” a glance at Jesse, “something extra,” back to Cass, “and… well, I fucking want you to prove to this stubborn bastard that you really are a vampire. I’m not dealing with that shit revelation on the road.” Tulip shook her head.

 

Jesse glared. “Are you really still on about—”

 

“Fine,” Cass interrupted. He dropped the cans on the ground, leaving only one in his hand. “Road trip? Fuckin’ A. Drinkin’ and sexin’ and doin’ all manner a’ bad things on our way? Sign me the fuck up. An’ you, padre? Promise not to freak out and I’ll fulfill my promise from when we first met.”

 

“Promise?” Jesse asked. He curled on his side, curious.

 

“I believe I said somethin’ about gettin’ struck by lightning’. Tulip? Hold my drink, please.”

 

There was a lot Jesse could say about Cass, but first and foremost was that he did what he said. It took a while—quite the show, him dancing out in the street—but the strike _did_ come down, like God had just been waiting for that moment. Cass walking back to him with charred skin and a grin was the craziest moment in Jesse Custer’s life. And that was saying something big.

 

He downed Cass’ drink. Then his. The heat of them burned.

 

“You promised not to freak,” Cass huffed, his clothes half falling away, bits smoking. There was something leftover in his pocket and Jesse turned away as Cass fed on it quick, then tossed the corpse in the grass.

 

Tulip rolled her eyes. “He’s freaking. You need more blood?”

 

“Still got some from your lil’ hospital upstairs.”

 

“Good. Go fix yourself up, you disgrace. Then pack. Jesse?”

 

He turned towards Tulip, wide-eyed and more than a little shaky.

 

“…Yeah?”

 

“Get the fuck over yourself. I got something I want you to do before we leave.”

 

So he did.

 

It was, in comparison, the easiest thing of the night.

 

***

 

Packing had always been easy for them too. Jesse should have known he hadn’t found home yet, not if he was able to pick up and go at any moment. Hell, changing out of wet clothes took more time then leaving.

 

Tulip had one duffle-bag still thrown on the floor of her beat-up Chevelle Sedan. Cass collected a few ratty outfits, paperbacks, a small cooler filled with blood, and one or two of his more precious plants. The rest, he said, could be grabbed or overgrow both stores. Jesse sort of liked the second idea.

 

Jade was placed carefully in the passenger-side seat. Jesse would keep her steady on the ride.

 

The rest of his stuff took the longest. Black clothes and black tools, carefully packing up all the materials he could feasibly take. Jesse wasn’t worried about the lost expense. After all, he could stuff the entirety of his earning from two months into one pocket, which he did, courtesy of Donnie. Money had never been the goal.

 

They spoke little (“Cass. The fuck you ever do with my comforter?” “Hehe, probably best you don’t know…”) yet moved horridly, eager put their back to Annville now that they’d decided to.

 

 

The only thing wasn’t thrown hazardously into the trunk was two needles, black ink, and a bit of lavender. At Tulip’s instruction Jesse piled them both onto his chair—the first time and the last time together—giving them each an outlined tulip on the back of their right shoulder. Tulip’s was obviously for her name. Cass for his flowers... and the adoring look that had only increased over the hours, gifted to Tulip, well-understood by Jesse.

 

He, in turn, was marked only by the idea that more of his ink was sinking into their skin.

 

Both had their shirts off. Cass scoffed good-naturedly. “You give her ‘‘Till the End of the World’ an’ I get bloody ‘LOL’?”

 

Tulip grinned. “Seems fitting to me.”

 

“Least I know now why you heal so fast,” Jesse said, watching the lines of the petals he’d drawn already losing their angry hue.

 

“Now I _told_ you, but did you listen? Noooooo…”

 

It didn’t take long after that. More bandages and beer—they were ready to go. Jesse slipped a note under his door saying to take what you want and water the plants, if you would. It was addressed to whoever would find it.

 

“We’ll pass the church on our way outta town. So you can say bye.” Tulip didn’t sound teasing. “Where the fuck are we heading anyway?”

 

Cass popped his head out of the backseat window. “Did you know, all my long years on this dirt-ball and I’ve never seen the Pacific Ocean?”

 

Jesse sat carefully with Jade in his lap. Tulip slide into the driver’s seat, looking to him as he looked to her.

 

“Seems as good a place as any,” he said. “Let’s go.”

 

“ _Hey!_ ”

 

They startled, the moment broken. Leaning out their windows they could just make out a figure emerging on the road, drenched with hair and expression frazzled.

 

Emily pointed somewhat wildly at Tulip. “You,” she hissed. “Alice says _you stole our hamster?_ ”

 

“Aw hell,” Tulip muttered. Jesse didn’t know what the fuck that was about.

 

Cass to the rescue. He was still leaning out of the car, cigarette in hand. He lit another and beckoned Emily with it.

 

“Long story there,” he said. “Poor Mr. Wiggles. Hey, you still got that Mayor of yours?”

 

Emily blinked. “... yes?”

 

“Good. Let him take the kids for a while. You got clothes on your back and just a bit a’ desperation. That’s all you need, really.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

 

Cass looked to them both. Jesse smiled. Tulip shrugged.

 

He sat back and patted the car’s side.

 

“Hop in, Em. We’ll tell you all about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, that's what I've got for now! As said in the beginning, this turned primarily into a prologue to a road trip fic I'd like to write, so there are still plenty of things I want to explore between these four... and others, as they're introduced ;)
> 
> For now - and for what this currently is - I hope you all enjoyed it! <3


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